


Make the Carousel Stop Turning

by amylaura



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Gen, Implied Jack Zimmmermann/Kent Parson, Overdose, Panic Attack, What happened at the NHL Draft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amylaura/pseuds/amylaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Kent were all set to go first and second in the NHL draft. But sometimes, things don't go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make the Carousel Stop Turning

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this post.... http://emmagrant01.tumblr.com/post/144015826410/asexualdex-rohnweasley-i-have-so-many
> 
> (Quick note - Garry Bettman is the NHL commissioner and he has a couple lines of dialog, so I tagged him.)

The din was overwhelming. All around him, people were laughing and chatting, obviously in high spirits ahead of the NHL draft. The Bell Centre was packed to capacity with fans from every team, not to mention scores of personnel from every NHL and AHL team and dozens of league officials.

But Jack Zimmermann just couldn’t shake the band of panic that was squeezing his chest. Everyone here was expecting this to be his crowning moment - they were here, in his hometown, to witness and celebrate him becoming the second Number 1 pick in the family. Everywhere he went, someone wanted to speak with him about endorsement deals or favours he'd be able to do for them once he signed his contract. 

Jack was barely breathing by the time he found himself in a semi-deserted hallway backstage. He just needed to find a place to sit without anyone bothering him for just a minute. But there just didn’t seem to be a room in this giant arena that wasn’t occupied. He stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall, his head falling back against the cold tile.

There was still an hour to go. How was he going to survive this? Why did the draft this year have to be in Montreal, where so many people knew him? It would have been stressful anywhere, but having the draft here, while poetic for so many people, was only making everything worse. He could barely think or breathe. 

“Can I help you find something, Jack?” 

Jack jumped and looked around. A woman from the league office was standing next to him, looking slightly baffled to find him back here and not at the table with the rest of his family; he frowned, trying to remember her name - he was sure he had been introduced to her earlier this evening, but her name just hadn’t registered. His dad would have remembered, that insidious voice at the back of his head piped up, unhelpfully. 

“Sorry - I just needed a moment,” he whispered, ashamed to have been seen like this. 

“There’s a bathroom just along here,” she responded with a quiet smile; he supposed it was meant to be reassuring, but it looked somewhat pityingly right now. He should be out there, like Kent no doubt was, enjoying the glare of the cameras and the attention, not hiding in the shadows. 

“Thanks,” he muttered as the embarrassed flush crept up his neck. It took another minute to convince his knees to support him but the woman didn’t seem to notice he was having trouble walking. 

Fortunately, the bathroom was empty. He tried to lock the door, but his hand was shaking so badly he just couldn’t manage it. Jack gave up when his stomach began to heave, and he just barely made it into one of the cubicles in time. A few dry heaves later, he collapsed on the floor next to the toilet, cringing when he realized he was probably creasing his brand new suit. He was glad he hadn’t tried to eat anything today. What a disaster that would have been - getting called up on stage to shake the Commissioner’s hand with the front of his shirt stained with his own vomit. He burrowed his hands in his hair, tugging helplessly as he tried to bring his racing breathing and thoughts back under control. Five minutes later, Jack let go of his hair and leaned his head back against the cool metal partition. His thoughts were still buzzing, but his stomach had calmed down. He might just be OK.

But just then, his phone rang, echoing slightly against the tile floor and walls. It rang twice before he had managed to fish it out of his trouser pocket; the name on the screen didn't register for a moment, but when it did, his face fell. The knot in his stomach, which had just begun to loosen, seized right back up when he recognized the number of the GM for the Aces.

“Hello?” he croaked a second later, pushing himself up off the floor and heading towards the sink as he answered the call. 

“Jack, this is Kevin Anderson from the Aces.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jack stuttered. Why was he calling? Was this usual? Every other draft, the first round pick got the call once the draft had started, with a camera right in his face as the whole sport watched his dream come true. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” replied Kevin - and Jack realized he sounded hesitant, which didn’t help his own anxiety. “I wanted to tell you this in person, so you could be prepared.”

Prepared? What was going on here? He had been preparing for this moment since the minute he had stepped on the ice for his first practice at age 6. Even before that, if you counted the fact that a living legend was his father - and everyone seemed to be considering that.

“We think you are a great player, obviously, and have a tremendous career in front of you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he answered woodenly, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“But the Aces have bigger needs than a center,” Kevin continued, and Jack’s ears started ringing as his breathing got shallower. This couldn’t be happening. “We’d love to have you on our team, but it just doesn’t make sense when our one all-star is our center. So we’re going to take someone else with the first pick.”

Jack couldn’t answer. Kevin was waiting for him to respond, to say that he understood and that it was a business after all. But he couldn’t speak; he tried opening his mouth, but there was only a breathy sound that escaped. He was beginning to hyperventilate. 

“Jack - this isn’t about you,” Kevin continued, his voice now shot through with an urgency that Jack just couldn’t understand. “You’re one of the best draftees the league has seen in a long time. You’re going to do great things. But, unfortunately, not with the Aces.”

“I understand,” he managed to push out, his voice sounding tinny and distant to his own ears. His vision was going slightly hazy around the edges. He was so glad his father wasn't here to see his son fall apart like this. 

“Like I said - I wanted you to hear this from me in advance, not when the Commissioner is on the stage. The Aeros are going to draft you the minute it’s their turn on the clock. It’s just bad luck for you that the lottery fell the way it did this year.”

“Thank you for telling me. And Kent Parson is a great player,” Jack heard himself say as his whole body began to shake. “He’ll do great things for your organization.” Kevin hadn't said who they would be drafting with the number one pick - but really, if it wasn't him, there was only one other possibility. Kevin thanked him for understanding, gave a few more empty platitudes about how great his career was sure to be, and hung up. Jack looked up and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink.

He had failed. He wasn’t good enough to be the number one pick - who knew if he was even going to be drafted. Kevin might have said the Aeros were interested, but the Aces had courted him for months. He’d toured their facilities, met the coach and GMs, even been shown around the city for places he might like to live. And now, they were going to take Kent instead of him.

The blood started rushing in his ears. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go back out there and sit at that table, surrounded by his parents, agent and everyone else and wait for everyone to just how much of a screw-up he really was. 

The text alert on his phone chimed and he debated ignoring it. What was the point? But after a second, he glanced down, hoping somehow that it was Kevin, telling him he had been mistaken, that they were taking him after all. But his father's name on the screen made his hand start to shake.

_Where are you, son? It’s almost time._

He stared down at his father’s words. How could he face his dad now? For the last ten years, he’d pushed and pushed and pushed to be as good as his dad, to make him proud. And it had all been for naught. He had failed. He was a failure.

He was shaking from head to toe now, leaning against the bathroom wall for support. He frowned as he heard an odd rattle in the otherwise stillness of the bathroom. It took a few minutes to remember the bottle of pills he had shoved in his pocket back at home. He fished out the small bottle, his frown deepening as the rattling noise grew louder once it was free of his pocket.

He’d already taken the max dose before he’d left the house, when it had taken three attempts to tie his tie. The red warning text on the label blared that taking any more would be dangerous. 

But the siren call of the pills was hard to ignore. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken slightly more than the recommended dose. Every time he’d done it before, he’d been fine. More than fine, really. Some of the best games he had played had come when he'd taken more than the doctor said he should.

He shook out two more pills and swallowed them down dry before typing a quick reply. 

_I’m sorry, Dad. I just needed a minute._

Jack closed his eyes and slid down the wall as the first wave of the drug swept over him. In a minute, he’d be OK. He’d be able to deal with everyone knowing just how much of a pretender he really was. In a few minutes…

 

\-----

 

Bob Zimmermann frowned as he read Jack’s reply. What was he sorry about? He looked around the busy green room, at all the tables that were filling up with next year’s rookies. Kent was on the other side of the room, looking slightly green in the gills, but still managing to smile as he shook someone’s hand. The crowd shifted, and Bob frowned as he recognized the person with Kent. There was only one reason Kevin Anderson would be shaking someone’s hand at this stage.

Bob shot to his feet; he needed to find Jack.

“Sweetheart?” Alicia asked, putting a delicate hand on his arm. He looked down at his wife, and he knew by her expression that his fear was showing on his face.

“Come with me,” he whispered, drawing her gracefully to her feet. He didn’t say anything more as he lead her through a door that was hidden behind one of the banners hanging from the ceiling. He didn’t say anything else as he pushed through the crowd, looking desperately at the people around him, looking for the top of his son’s head.

“Bob, dear, what’s going on?’

“We need to find Jack. Right now.” He pulled her along, not elaborating. He couldn’t bear to voice his worries, in case they made his fears come true. Jack had been off-kilter all night; Bob had watched helplessly from the sidelines as Jack had faced reporter after reporter, all of whom had congratulated him on being the presumed number one pick. He wished he had been able to step in, to pull Jack away from the circus, to tell him he was proud, so proud, even if he wasn't picked at all tonight.

Bob had known Kevin Anderson for years; they had played against each other for almost a decade. He was an honourable guy. If he had decided to take Parson instead of Jack - he would have felt obligated to tell Jack first. 

“Mr. Zimmermann?” Bob turned, barely swallowing a growl as he caught sight of Becky Lauder, one of the NHL public relations staff he had been introduced to a month ago. She was a nice enough woman, but right now, he had bigger problems than whatever the league wanted.

“Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Jack?” Becky continued, a worried note to her voice that only amplified the knot in his stomach. “The league wants to get an interview just before the draft starts, but no one has seen him in the last ten minutes. I showed him to a bathroom…” 

“Where?” Bob demanded, not caring at that minute that he had cut her off.

“The next corridor,” she responded with a slight frown. “Take a right up ahead and it’s just down the hallway…” Bob took off at a jog, ignoring Alicia’s muttered apologies at his rudeness. He skidded around the corner and caught sight of the door she had described. His phone was in his hand as he pushed the door open, hoping beyond hope that he was going to find an empty room.

But as the door swung open, he caught sight of Jack, sprawled on the floor and not moving, and his heart shattered. Alicia’s shriek of despair echoed in his ears as he collapsed next to Jack’s head.

Somewhere in the distance, beyond the ringing in his ears as he gathered his unconscious son into his shaking arms, he heard Becky bark into her walkie talkie that they needed an ambulance at the loading dock, immediately.

 

\----

 

Kent tried to keep his face blank as he took his seat at the table with his name on it. He had started shaking when Kevin Anderson had approached him to whisper his congratulations and say that they were going to take him as the number one pick.

He’d always dreamed of this day, ever since he had been a little kid, but over the last couple of years, he’d grown to expect to be number two. He’d always come in second to Jack Zimmermann in the Q, and honestly, he hadn’t minded after a while. When they played together, they drew comparisons to some of the great combos in league history. Off the ice - they’d been drawn together like moths to flame. 

A sudden flurry of whispers made him look up; he’d been staring at the white table cloth, focusing on the boring fabric to contain his racing heartbeat. He frowned when his gaze fell on te three empty seats at the table next to him. Where were Jack and his parents? They couldn’t have left before the draft started, could they? Were they mad that he was going number one, rather than Jack? He hoped not; Jack's parents had always been fantastic towards him. He'd hate it if they blamed him for going in Jack's spot.

Just then, Garry Bettman, the league commissioner walked across the stage, a grim look on his face. Kent frowned, glancing down at his phone screen. The draft wasn’t due to start for fifteen minutes. What was going on?

“Ladies and gentleman,” Gary said, an odd note to his voice that Kent didn’t understand, “I’m sorry to say that, due to a medical emergency, the start of the draft will be delayed.” Kent’s heart stuck in his throat as the meaning of the empty seats came clear. He looked around, hoping he was wrong, but judging by the looks on the faces of the league officials, he wasn’t wrong.

Sure enough, the news that Jack Zimmermann had withdrawn from the draft broke about ten minutes later. The uproar in the Bell Centre almost blew the roof off.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom - but probably won't be the last. (I'm making myself finish my Sherlock WIP before doing any more branching out - but I just couldn't get this out of my head tonight.)
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd and I'm writing on my tablet - so please tell me if there are any typos/corrections.


End file.
